


Exhibits No Restraint

by Kisatsel



Series: Equilibrium [1]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Bondage, Canon Era, Desk Sex, First Time, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, bickering lawyers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-26
Updated: 2015-11-26
Packaged: 2018-05-03 11:59:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5289854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kisatsel/pseuds/Kisatsel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>So</i>, Aaron thinks with grim satisfaction, <i>the tomcat has claws after all.</i></p><p>Not long after Hamilton moves into his New York office, Burr receives an offer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Exhibits No Restraint

**Author's Note:**

> This story is for the most part one excessively long sex scene.
> 
> I try to operate on a strictly no shame policy about writing porn, but I am maybe side-eying myself a bit that THIS was apparently my response to the musical’s complex and moving portrayal of Aaron Burr. 
> 
> Title from ‘Wait For It’ but set during ‘Non-Stop’. There is a little bit of internalized homophobia.

Aaron Burr has been expecting some kind of minor upheaval in the established order ever since Alexander Hamilton moved into a neighboring premises just over a week ago. Aaron’s practice is thriving, and he has begun to establish a good reputation amongst a number of important society figures; so of course, Hamilton has come to come to do the exact same thing in a highly unconventional and spectacularly successful manner, right under Burr’s nose. The matter is both infuriating and unsurprising.

Having reviewed his notes for an upcoming case and jotted down some notes, Aaron turns his attention to the small pile of unread correspondence sitting on his desk. Amongst a handful of invitations and various insignificant solicitations is an envelope with nothing but his name scrawled on it, in a hand which jolts his memory - a fellow soldier from the war? He slices neatly through the envelope and pulls out a single sheet of paper.

 _Dear Sir_ , the letter reads.

_I write firstly to congratulate you on the measure of success which I hear you have already achieved in such a short time span, and to inquire after your health, which I hope remains robust. I am sure that you, as I Myself do, find yourself with considerable demands upon your time. Our shared profession is a noble one, but a great many of its practitioners seem to have a talent for Verbosity and little besides. This deficit has necessitated ongoing efforts on my part to introduce that elusive yet essential quality, Reason, which (I dare to suggest) is often sadly lacking in the courtroom._

_I am lucky to count you as one of my most Judicious Acquaintances, and trust therefore that you will read no insult in these words; indeed, I hope very much that we will have the opportunity to cooperate in the future, that I might gain from your knowledge of the letter and practice of the law, and vice versa._

_Do not dismiss me immediately; allow me to convince you of my sincerity, Sir. I have often found such collaborations to be an invaluable resource. How startling an effect a common goal can produce on men of vastly differing tempers! Together, each assuming a complementary role, the union of minds can penetrate even the most enigmatic and mystifying conundrum. No man must necessarily emerge superior in these intellectual Entanglements, but rather, by sharpening one’s blade on the whetstone of the other, each emerges with his facilities refreshed and enlivened._

_Though our paths have crossed many times over the years, there have remained some differences in understanding between us, which has only increased my desire for our minds to meet more fully; for I saw in you a hunger to match my own, which impressed me no less than did the commensurate level of caution and self-discipline which you have always displayed. The proximity of our respective premises would seem to furnish an excellent opportunity to deepen our acquaintance._

_If you find yourself in agreement that a collaboration of this sort would serve us both well, I would be greatly Honoured if you would pay me a visit upon receipt of this letter. Please believe me to remain_

_Your most hum. Servt.  
A. Ham._

Upon finishing the missive, Aaron blinks rapidly, and finds that his palms are sweating and his heart has begun beating faster. He reads it again, more slowly. The style, the presumptuous tone, the signature: it is unmistakably Hamilton. Though how he could pen such a thing - and yet, of course Hamilton would reach out in this way; the man is voraciously ambitious and Aaron is already on his way to becoming one of the city’s preeminent lawyers. Not that this explains why on earth Hamilton would use such startlingly persuasive language, almost as if he thought it necessary to _court_ Burr into forming some sort of legal allegiance with him.

Aaron reads the letter a third and then a fourth time, lingering on certain words and phrases: _a hunger to match my own_.

_deepen our acquaintance_

It is flattering, of course, he muses, to receive such concrete and unexpected confirmation of Hamilton’s admiration for his own faculties, and even a desire to learn from Burr, even if the tone is so overbearing that it almost leans towards mockery.

He pictures Hamilton sitting at his desk, mere minutes away from Aaron’s office, and penning these strokes. Did he scrawl the note hastily, an afterthought, or did he pause to collect his thoughts?

Aaron is forced to admit that he has been impressed by Hamilton’s energetic activity since he returned to New York. He has found himself unconsciously working longer hours since Hamilton established himself nearby, knowing that his rival would be writing late into the night. He has found his desire to improve his reputation and pay off his debts strengthened. It is just as Hamilton wrote: they make each other sharper.

And yet, things are hardly that straightforward. He has long suspected Hamilton of a capacity for intrigue, and would not be surprised if these surprising proclamations were actually elements of some scheme or other with the ultimate goal of enhancing Hamilton’s prestige. It is very likely that the overtures of friendship are only to be maintained so long as they further the ascendancy of Alexander Hamilton. As long as it takes for him to outflank Burr.

It could be any of these possibilities, or none. The man is reliably unreliable.

Burr turns the letter over and stares at the blank side of the sheet of paper. He will, of course, respond. He begins to draft a reply in his head: _Dear Sir, I am well, thank you._

His thoughts stutter and then hit a wall. He cannot commit to this charade which Hamilton has begun, and he will not venture to speak of desires or recollections. It would not suit him; weaving webs made of words is not his way. He will pay a visit, as Hamilton requested, and find out what on earth Hamilton wants from him. He will do so immediately, so that he does not have to concern himself with the damned letter any longer than necessary.

His mind thus made up, Aaron stands, pulls on his coat and sweeps decisively out of the room.

He walks with a long stride down the street, pausing only once he is right outside the door to Hamilton’s premises and is confronted with his own reflection in the buffed and polished nameplate which is affixed to the door. Looking at it, Aaron realizes that in his haste to find confront Hamilton he has buttoned his jacket askew. He frowns and fastens the buttons correctly, then knocks sharply on the door and enters immediately. Hamilton’s office is at the end of the hallway, the door slightly ajar.

“Hamilton. Good evening, sir,” Burr says by way of greeting. “I received your letter.”

Hamilton is sitting behind his desk and peering at some papers. He lifts his head and looks at Aaron, delight evident on his features. “Aaron Burr! You did! Good,” Hamilton says. “I take it then, that you are not averse to my proposition, sir.”

“I should like some explanation as to what, exactly, you propose,” Burr says.

“Of course!” Hamilton says. “I’m glad you came, Burr. I will explain right away.” He does not, however, say anything further following this pronouncement. Instead, Hamilton rises from his chair and walks around his desk until he is standing so close to Aaron that he has to tilt his head up to look him in the eyes, which he does, fixing him with a look of curiosity and great determination.

Aaron waits with one eyebrow quirked, feeling a curious excitement: whatever it is that Hamilton wishes to say, it clearly arouses great feeling in him. 

Burr is growing impatient, but Hamilton still does not speak. Instead, he places a hand on Aaron’s waist and kisses him. His lips are soft and he nips impatiently at Burr when he does not immediately open his mouth.

Shocked, Aaron gasps and Hamilton takes advantage of this moment of laxness to dart his tongue into Aaron’s mouth. He kisses like he knows he needs to win him over and intends to do so, gentle and then sharp, hands resting on Aaron’s sides with surety.

A few stomach twisting seconds later, Aaron jerks his head back. “Get away from me,” he says. His voice comes out strangely hoarse.

“You’re clutching onto my waistcoat,” Hamilton points out. Aaron lets go of the fabric abruptly and clenches his fist. He stares at Alexander Hamilton, taking him in: creased waistcoat, ink-stained fingers, newly-shined shoes. Eventually Aaron forces himself to meet Hamilton’s gaze. Hamilton wears his hunger openly, like he knows it becomes him. His eyes dare you to draw closer.

“We’ll work together on cases, of course,” Hamilton says. “But that isn’t why I wrote you today.”

Aaron feels knocked off-balance; recalling the words of Hamilton’s letter, his own blindness to their intent becomes obvious. Chagrin is followed immediately by a rush of anger.

“You presume far too much; you take liberties no man should,” he says tightly, stepping closer to Hamilton to press his slight height advantage.

“Perhaps,” Hamilton allows. “But you haven’t left yet, Burr. Shall I take some more?” Aaron recalls a ballroom years ago, Hamilton, a penniless orphan, turning a smile equal parts mischief and intent on the most eligible ladies at the ball. He sees the same smile now as Hamilton watches him.

This time when Hamilton kisses him, Burr kisses back.

He feels a surge of elation: finally he can put his hands on Hamilton, push at him and feel him pushing back. So Hamilton wants to play crude tricks? He will get what he asked for.

They’re messy and uncoordinated, their teeth bumping, gripping one another as they stagger across the room. Hamilton, though lightly built, has surprising strength.

Hamilton puts his hand against Aaron’s breeches where his state of arousal is already clear and then squeezes. The pressure is agonizingly good. Once he has worked him into a state of thorough distraction, Hamilton tugs off Aaron’s cravat and scrapes his teeth over the exposed skin of his neck.

Aaron breathes heavily. He feels shockingly exposed. “I see that you exhibit as little self-control in your personal life as you do in political matters,” he says with that touch of admonishment that he knows puts Hamilton on edge. 

“Whereas you, Burr, are admirably restrained,” Hamilton replies evenly. “But I think that you want this as much as I do. It’s written all over your face.”

Surely that can’t be true, Burr thinks. Surely nobody else in the whole world wants as much and as forcefully as Alexander Hamilton does. It’s elating and a little terrifying to have all that focus turned on him alone.

Being undressed by Hamilton is not unlike being set upon by a small whirlwind; very soon Burr has been divested of his waistcoat and shirt and is standing there in nothing but his undershirt and breeches. _In Hamilton’s office_. Hamilton, who is still fully clothed, who is kissing Aaron’s neck effusively.

“You look very nice like this,” Hamilton says. Aaron glares at him but Hamilton smiles back guilelessly. “Lift up your arms, Burr.”

Aaron does so, allowing himself to be carried along for a moment by the irresistible tide of Hamilton’s desire.

Hamilton tugs his undershirt up and over his head and then, raising his eyebrows as if daring Burr to object, takes his arms and places them together behind his back. Stepping around him, Hamilton twists the shirt around Aaron’s wrists and knots the sleeves together. In a matter of seconds the thing is done. Burr tests the binding experimentally and feels a flush run over his face and chest. He could twist one hand out, he concludes, but only with difficulty.

He feels a little relief when Hamilton returns to stand before him; it is hard to imagine a more compromising position than the one he occupies now, but Hamilton’s approving gaze, while certainly provoking, softens the edge of vulnerability he cannot help but feel. Hamilton cannot seem to stop touching him, running his hands over Aaron’s bare arms and pressing his mouth to his chest.

“I have to say, I did not harbor much hope that you would respond to my letter with anything other than dismissal,” Hamilton says between kisses. “I have a great many more things I would like to say to you which I believe could be best expressed in writing.”

“Are you threatening to send me salacious letters?” Aaron raises an eyebrow. He is pleased that he achieves a tone of wry detachment even as Hamilton, with both hands on Aaron’s waist, directs him backwards until his thighs bump against the hard wooden edge of the desk.

“I’m not threatening, I’m proposing,” Hamilton says in a reasonable tone of voice.

“Goodness! That sounds rather serious,” Aaron says. He’s a little irritated at himself for getting drawn into this preposterous exchange. “You can rest assured that any non-professional correspondence from you will go straight into the fireplace, Hamilton.”

“But how will you know if they’re professional if you don’t open them, Burr?”

“I care very, very little about the contents of any letters you may or may not write in the future, Hamilton,” Aaron grits out. The edge of Hamilton’s desk is digging into his legs and he shifts restlessly. Hamilton, who has been undoing the ties of Burr’s breeches with deft fingers, draws his brows together. He sweeps his arm over the desk to shift the piles of papers to the side, and then hoists Aaron up and plants him on the desk.

Burr feels a wave of lust course through him. In this position he is able to hook his legs around Hamilton’s to press them closer together. The cloth of Hamilton’s shirt brushing against his skin sends tremors down his chest and despite his best efforts at suppressing it, a moan emerges from his throat. 

“Burr!” Hamilton breathes, affecting a look of great scandal. Aaron rolls his eyes and bites at Hamilton’s collarbone, then licks at the reddened skin. He feels against his mouth the tremor that runs through Hamilton’s entire body in response. Hamilton’s fingers dig harder into his shoulders; he runs his hands up and down the expanse of skin between Aaron’s caught arms, hot lines that make his cock twitch in response.

 _So_ , Aaron thinks with grim satisfaction, _the tomcat has claws after all._ He’d suspected as much, but there’s a heady thrill in feeling the evidence in the sting of the scrapes running across his back.

“Since you have so kindly consented to be incapacitated in this way, I take it you would not be averse to my - proceeding,” Hamilton says into Aaron’s mouth. He raises his eyebrows during the pause as if to imply all sorts of debauchery, while his hands continue to run over Burr with restless impatience. Aaron has enough of his faculties remaining to register some surprise that they have degenerated this far this quickly.

Hamilton’s hands trace over Aaron’s chest and rove lower, untying his breeches and cupping his cock briefly. Aaron is shockingly aroused that Hamilton would take such liberties.

“I want this,” Hamilton says. “A lot.” Just like him to state such a thing so baldly, as if saying so will make it happen. “Have you ever lain with a man before?”

“I refrained from such excesses in my youth,” Burr says a little primly.

“That’s a shame,” Hamilton says. “It feels wonderful.”

“So you’ve-”

“Yes. Many times.” The image flashes vividly before Aaron’s eyes: Hamilton lying on a bed, naked, pierced by another man.

“So?” Hamilton inquires. He’s still stroking Aaron lightly.

It’s out of the question, of course, and yet - the realization hits him like a heavy blow to his chest: if he leaves now, Alexander Hamilton will in all likelihood never touch him in this way again. All that fervor and magnetism, the ludicrous sincerity, will be directed once more towards Hamilton’s legal and political pursuits, towards his _wife_ , and Burr will be nothing more than witness and bystander.

Hamilton kisses Burr on the mouth, more a question than a demand. They have come this far already. “It occurs to me,” Hamilton says, “that now is an excellent opportunity to remedy your earlier forbearance.”

Aaron reaches a decision.

“That’s a pretty speech Alexander,” he growls, “do you plan to talk all day as is your usual wont?”

“You know me, Burr,” Hamilton says. “I am perfectly capable of fitting words to action.”

“Then I suggest you do so,” Aaron says. There it is; the words have left his mouth. “I hope this means you’ll finally take off some damned clothes,” he adds.

It is intoxicating to watch the effect his words have on Hamilton, whose eyes open wide with momentary shock and then fix darkly on Burr. Hamilton unbuttons his waistcoat and flings it in a corner, then does the same with his shirt.

“It might be easier if you would – bend over the desk,” Hamilton says with an apologetic quirk of his mouth.

“Oh, might it,” Aaron says flatly.

“Or if you’d like, I can take you on the floor,” Hamilton suggests.

The demeaning absurdity of his predicament hits Aaron anew. And yet has he not helped to drive this onwards; did he not demand this very thing mere seconds before. He aches for it, still. Something twists bitterly inside him: an hour ago he did not know this about himself, and now Hamilton has shown it to him and he cannot un-know it.

“Do not ask me to make that choice, Hamilton,” he says.

Hamilton’s face softens in understanding. “Very well,” Hamilton says. Hooking his hand into the waist of Aaron’s breeches, he tugs at them until Aaron slides off the desk.

And then - Burr draws in a breath sharply – Hamilton kneels down to unbuckle Aaron’s shoes and eases them off, one and then the other.

All that remains then is his breeches, which are divested easily, so that Burr is clad in nothing but Hamilton’s shirt wrapped tight around his wrists, his hardness clear.

The juxtaposition of his own nakedness and all the trappings of Hamilton’s office surrounding them is jarring, but Hamilton’s mouth is hot and urgent on his. Aaron kisses him hungrily, enjoying the feeling of Hamilton’s body pressed right up against his.

Hamilton breaks away from the kiss and hurries around the desk to pull something out of a drawer: a small bottle.

“Where did you get that?” Aaron asks incredulously. “Did you plan this?” Hamilton doesn’t bother replying.

The thought of Hamilton smuggling kitchen oil into his office in case of future conquests is so absurd that it eases the tension Aaron feels a little, and he turns around readily enough at the urging of Hamilton’s firm hands.

Hamilton pushes on his neck until he is bent fully over the desk. He steps in-between Aaron’s legs and runs a hand down his back.

“I’ve been told I’m very good at this,” Hamilton murmurs. 

He keeps one hand resting over Aaron’s neck, keeping him pinned down. Aaron tries to breathe steadily, braced for Hamilton pressing into him but instead he gets Hamilton’s thumb, dripping with oil, pressing and rubbing at his hole, a tease. Hamilton means to draw this out, he realizes, and groans into the wood. He is fully hard and grinds as best he can against the wood, needing some kind of pressure. Hamilton’s hand tightens against his neck in warning and Aaron stills.

Finally one finger presses into him. Aaron rocks backwards, trying to draw Hamilton further inside him.

He is emitting sounds into the wood; the sounds are Hamilton’s name, he realizes.

“Something on your mind, Burr?” Hamilton asks with amusement, pressing another finger into him. 

“What would-” Aaron gasps, “what would your wife think of this, if she knew?”

“I’m sure she’ll enjoy hearing about how easily I took you apart,” Hamilton says, twisting his fingers inside Aaron as if to prove his point. Aaron shudders. Hamilton bends over him and kisses his shoulder.

A second finger is quickly followed by a third. Though he feels loose now, oil dripping down his legs, the stretch already burns a little, and yet Hamilton’s cock will surely be much wider. The thought consumes his mind.

“Shall I tell her that you begged for it, Burr?” Hamilton asks. The question hangs in the air. Hamilton desires an answer, Aaron realizes, feeling a curl of shame. He will leave him no place to hide.

He keeps stubbornly silent, breathing harshly as Hamilton rubs against some spot which sends wild sparks of pleasure through his body. And then the fingers are gone, leaving him empty, and he feels Hamilton’s cock, the length of it pressed up against him. A sob chokes his throat.

“Yes,” Aaron says hoarsely, “Tell her whatever you wish.”

“I shall only tell her what is absolutely true,” Hamilton says. He begins to grind his cock between Aaron’s buttocks, catching against the rim of his hole but not entering him.

Aaron was unwise to forget that Alexander Hamilton is capable of demonstrating absolute ruthlessness when it serves him to do so.

Aaron gathers his facilities of speech with great difficulty. “Hamilton,” he says. “ _Alexander._ Please.”

Hamilton’s cock presses inside, slowly sinking into him. He bends over Aaron so that he is smothered, surrounded. “Good enough,” Hamilton says in his ear, and bites down sharply on his neck. Aaron nearly comes right then, but Hamilton has not touched his cock since he bent him over the desk and release evades him still.

“More,” Burr growls. Hamilton obliges him, fucking him with messy, frantic strokes that send him juddering sideways across the desk.

“Burr, you’re so,” Hamilton says. “So good for me. Should have had you like this years ago.”

Hamilton pulls out of him and Aaron whines in discontent. Hamilton pulls him up by the shoulders, turning him round so that Aaron is backed up against the desk and they are face to face. Hamilton slides back into him, and now Aaron can see his open mouth and his eyes, wide open with a wild hunger. Their mouths meet, barely a kiss, as Hamilton’s rhythm speeds up and then stutters.

Aaron feels the warmth of it fill him when Hamilton spends inside him. Hamilton tips his head down to rest it on Burr’s shoulder once he’s finished, brushing a row of damp kisses where his head falls. 

Aaron trembles when Hamilton slips out of him. Hamilton strokes his arms and then drops to his knees.

Hamilton, settled between Aaron’s bare feet, tilts his head up and gazes at him, wearing a curious smile. “I once heard you say that if there was something you truly wanted then you were willing to wait for it,” Hamilton says.

He begins to kiss his way up Aaron’s thigh. “Well, Burr, want to wait some more? You can stay here for as long as you wish; I have some correspondence I should really attend to.”

Burr twists his hands desperately behind his back, the cloth rubbing against his wrists. “Don’t you dare, Hamilton.”

Hamilton swallows him down. He does not tease any longer, sinking almost to the hilt and not drawing back when Aaron thrusts upwards, unable to hold back his need. The warm heat sends him over the edge almost immediately. Aaron forces his eyes to stay open as he comes and in reward gets to see Hamilton swallowing with evident pleasure.

Hamilton stands, and gently undoes the ties around Aaron’s wrists. Then he flops back down onto the floor and leans his head against Aaron’s leg. Aaron blinks in confusion down at the dark head of hair for a few seconds and then sinks down to join Hamilton. He massages his hands absentmindedly over his chafed and aching wrists.

They sit there for a few moments. Papers are scattered across the floor, knocked off the desk by their earlier activity. He spies his shirt and breeches, dropped carelessly by the wall. His mind, oddly, does not reflect the chaotic exterior of their surroundings, though it ought to.

Burr will not be the one to break the silence.

“There’s a case I have in mind,” Hamilton says. “I’ll write you about it.”

There it is, that damnable softness again, the same voice Hamilton used when Aaron came to his wedding; the one that is, above all else, not to be tolerated.

But now everything has shifted sideways and it seems that it can perhaps be briefly tolerated. It like walking the streets after a storm has passed, the world washed clean for a short time.

“I’ve already told you that I don’t want to receive any more letters from you unless they are absolutely necessary,” he tells Hamilton.

“All of my thoughts and opinions are absolutely necessary, Burr,” Hamilton replies sleepily.

Burr stands, pulls his clothes on, buttons his coat. He affixes his cravat carefully so that any marks are covered. The world is waiting outside.

“Good day, Hamilton. I expect I will see you soon,” he says. One last glance over the room, Hamilton sprawled out on the floor, and then he turns towards the door. Leaving wrenches at him only a little, and this is familiar and bearable.

Burr walks out and carefully does not look back.

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be hatesex and it TOTALLY did not work out that way. 
> 
> I love to think of Burr going about his work and being constantly distracted because he expects to get a dirty letter from Hamilton at any minute. 
> 
> I am not very active on tumblr but I’m trying to get back into it to complete my descent into full time crying about Hamilton, [follow me on there](http://www.kiwisatsuma.tumblr.com) if you want!


End file.
